


The Demon on the Angel's Shoulder

by RoyalBlue13



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluffy and Cute, HMCWTIYS, one sleepy serpent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalBlue13/pseuds/RoyalBlue13
Summary: Crowley hasn't been sleeping well and Aziraphale is determined to help him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: USEDTOBEHMC_WRITING_CONTEST





	The Demon on the Angel's Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> This is for usedtobehmc's fanfiction contest on Instagram. It's inspired by the second picture. I've never done a contest like this before, but I had been wanting to make a Good Omens fic so why not? XD Check out their insta, they're great!

Crowley’s drooping eyes shot open suddenly as the car behind him honked, overpowering Freddie Mercury’s singing. Quickly, his foot hit the gas pedal and the Bentley started off down the road again. For a moment, Crowley had to wonder if that had been a first. Usually, people honked at him for going too fast on the roads, not for staying still at a traffic light. Grumbling, his long fingers went under his shades and rubbed at his eyes, trying to force them open. Thankfully, he was nearly at his destination.

A few minutes later, the Bentley was parked on the curb in front of the A.Z. Fell and Co. bookshop. Sluggishly, the demon got out and walked up to the front door of the tall building. A sign in the window said the word “CLOSED” in large letters, but Crowley did not even notice it. Aziraphale only kept that sign there to keep people from buying the books inside, and Crowley had no interest in doing that. He knocked and took a step back, waiting. Of course, being a demon, he could have simply appeared into the shop in less than a second. But that would be impolite. Besides, Aziraphale knew he was coming. Yawning, he heard footsteps from inside. Aziraphale appeared in the window and walked up to the door. The lock clicked and it swung open. “So sorry,” the angel said with a smile, “Lost track of the time, I’m afraid. I was just doing some light reading. Do come in.”

Crowley’s shoes stepped into the bookshop, the smell of paper and old glue filling his nose. Aziraphale locked the door before briskly walking in front of him, the tails of his suit fluttering as he stepped. Crowley followed him without a word. “What have you been up to then?” The angel asked over his shoulder.

“...Nothin’ much.” He shrugged in his leather jacket. “You?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s cheeks brightened like Heaven’s gates. “Well, interestingly enough, I’ve come into possession of a rather rare book.” He went over to a full shelf and carefully selected one of the books from it, turning to show Crowley. “From what I understand, most scholars today call it the _First Folio,_ but I really prefer its original title: _Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies!”_ The angel announced it like he was telling Crowley that he’d found buried treasure. He smiled and it took Crowley a moment to realize he was waiting for a reaction.

“Shakespeare. I remember him,” he told him. “Still prefer his funny plays. Where’d you find it?”

“Oh, it’s quite a tale, actually. There are only a few hundred prints of this collection, you see. It has _thirty-six_ of his plays in here!” He sounded like a child explaining the rarity of a baseball card to his friends. “It’s actually considered to be one of the most influential books ever published. You can’t imagine my surprise when I heard this was the very first copy! Someone rang me the other day, maybe a week ago. This woman, oh, what was her name? Cheryl? Sherry? Maybe it was Cherry. No, not Cherry. Oh! It was-”

A yawn escaped the demon and echoed a little throughout the bookshop. Though his shades, he saw the angel deflate like a balloon. The light left his face, and he held the book closer to him. “Well, I, um, guess it isn’t all that important.” His eyes went to his shoes.

Crowley could kick himself. “No, no!” He waved his hands in front of him. “S’not you. Really. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Oh.” The angel perked up, but only slightly. “Is it that bothersome? I mean, angels and demons...don’t really _need_ to sleep. I’ve never done it myself, actually.”

“We don’t have to, no,” Crowley clarified. “But my body’s gotten used to doing it. And now it really wants to, but it can’t. S’like it forgot bloody how”

“You can’t fall asleep? Aziraphale placed the book in the empty space on his shelf, having forgotten about it. “How long have you been trying to?”

The demon’s exhausted mind tried to think. “...Month?”

“A whole _month?”_

“Give ‘er take...yeah,” Crowley fought back another yawn.

“And you haven’t been able to sleep at all?”

“Unless you count almost passing out on the way here, no.” He regretted saying that the instant the words left his tongue.

_“You nearly fell asleep behind the wheel?!”_ Aziraphale shouted, his blue eyes turning into tea saucers.

“Don’t get your wings in a twist, Angel, it was fine. ‘M sure it’ll work itself out eventually. I’ll go back to my place after this and try to-”

“You will do no such thing,” Aziraphale told him firmly. He briskly walked over and took Crowley by the arm, leading him towards the back of the bookshop. “You are in no condition to drive anywhere until you’ve gotten some rest. If you get back into that car now, you could get into an accident and hurt someone. Or discorporate!”

“Alright, a miracle then. I’ll leave the car with you and just pop back to my flat.”

The angel shook his head vigorously. “A miracle in your shape is dangerous. You’re so tired, you might just end up on the _moon._ No, you are staying right here until I know you’re back to normal.” The angel walked him into the backroom towards a small, simple couch. “Sit here.” Having no energy to fight him, Crowley did as he was told. “I’ll be right back. Just make yourself comfortable.” Without another word, he walked out of the room. Yawning, Crowley shed the leather jacket and folded it up on the arm of the sofa. The clock on the wall ticked in rhythm as he waited. After a few minutes, the angel reappeared. In one hand, he held a coffee mug and in the other a white blanket. “Here,” he said gently, holding the mug out. “Drink this. It’s chamomile and lavender tea. I’ve heard it does wonders for insomnia. I even added a spoon of honey in it for you.”

Crowley wrapped his long fingers around the warm mug as Aziraphale set the blanket on top of his jacket. “I’ll find you a pillow. I’m sure I’ve got one around here somewhere. Perhaps upstairs, or-”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley cut off. When he had his attention, he held up the mug. “...Tartan?” His eyebrow arched over his shades, begging questions.

Aziraphale placed his hands on his hips. “It’s a very stylish mug. Now drink. I’ll find a pillow.”

Sighing, Crowley sipped the warm beverage as Aziraphale went on his search. Admittedly, it was much better with the honey added in. Aziraphale’s shoes eventually clicked back down the stairs and he practically trotted back into the room, holding up a pillow. “I found one,” he said in a sing-song voice. He placed it on top of the blanket. “Now you can be more comfortable on the couch. Or if you want I could miracle a bed. Afraid I don’t have one myself. It would just take up space, and I would rather use it for-”

“Angel,” Crowley told him softly, knowing his friend was only trying to be helpful. “I can’t stay here. The way I sleep and with how tired I am, when I finally drift off, I could be asleep for a century. Or more. I’m not going to just take up space in your bookshop for years and years.”

“Nonsense. I’ve already told you; I’m not allowing you to leave until I know you are in a better state. At least here, I’ll know that you finally get your rest. Besides, I would never say you take up space. There’s plenty of it. It’s not like I ever really use this couch, you know.” Crowley opened his mouth, but Aziraphale continued. “I’ll just wait here until you’re asleep. Do you need anything else?”

The demon swallowed his tongue for a moment before answering, “No, this is fine.”

“Right. I’ll just finish up that book while you finish your tea.” With a small wave of his hand, a brown book appeared on his lap. He picked it up and flipped through it as Crowley sipped the tea again.

“What are you reading?” the demon asked after a few minutes.

“Jane Austen. _Pride and Prejudice._ Ever read it?”

“Not a big reader, me.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Pity, really, it’s a lovely read. It’s about the rules of society and gender, love and reputation-”

“Pride and prejudice?”

“That, too.”

The demon snickered. Aziraphale flipped to another page before lowering the book. “I don’t suppose…” He turned to him again. “You would like to hear it? The book?”

The tea in Crowley’s throat traveled slowly. He wasn’t sure how to respond to the question.

“I know you aren’t the kind of person to enjoy reading, like you said,” the angel continued. “But perhaps you are the type to enjoy being read to?”

“...One way to find out, s’pose,” he responded, figuring he had nothing to lose. Besides, it seemed to please Aziraphale. “Weren’t you almost through with it, though?”

“I can begin again. I’ve read this before anyhow.”

“You read the same book over again?”

“..Well...yes.” Aziraphale seemed almost confused by the question. “If it’s very good.”

“But you know what happens.”

“Yes. Just like you know the plots of most of those...oh what it is called? _Golden Girls_ is it? Most of those episodes, I bet.”

“...Get on with the book, Angel.”

Smiling proudly, Aziraphale flipped the pages through his fingers back to the beginning. “Right.” He sat straight and cleared his throat. “Chapter one. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters’.”

Crowley did his best to listen as he finished off the tea. Once he set the mug on a coaster resting on the small table to his side, he moved closer to Aziraphale in order to see the pages. He wasn’t really reading, at least not in his opinion. Just following along. Aziraphale spoke with excitement even though the book sounded a little dull to Crowley. When they came to chapter two, Crowley grabbed the blanket and covered his legs with it. “Shall I keep going?”

“To your heart’s content, Angel,” the demon answered.

That was the only invitation Aziraphale needed, apparently. Crowley rested his head on the back of the couch as he read. The clock ticked along to the rhythm of Aziraphale’s words. Page by page, paragraph by paragraph, the Principality did not waver. It was as if he were a reading machine. Eventually, the demon closed his eyes beyond his shades. He listened to Aziraphale as he described the many Bennet sisters and how they met Misters Bingley and Darcy. “This is where it gets good,” the angel told him.

“Mmm hmm,” Crowley mumbled.

“I do quite enjoy Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s banter,” Aziraphale explained. “They are quite well written.”

“A high compliment for Miss Austen.”

“Where was I? Oh, yes. Chapter four. ‘When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very much she admired him’.” The angel lost himself in the book, as per usual. He devoured the pages faster than any food he had ever eaten. And that was saying something. “Chapter ten. ‘The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours’ - hm?” Aziraphale came back to reality as he felt a new weight on his shoulder. Crowley’s head had slid from the back of the couch and was now resting on him. His shades were slightly crooked on his face, showing Aziraphale that his eyes were closed. He could feel the demon’s slow, steady breathing. Faintly, he heard him inhale and exhale, the sound almost mimicking that of the hiss of a snake. Aziraphale sighed, content that his friend had finally managed to fall asleep. Slowly, he set the book on his lap. Trying his best not to disturb the demon, he grabbed the edge of the blanket sitting on Crowley’s lap and pulled it up to cover him more as he slept. Like he was performing surgery, his fingers gripped the side of the dark shades and slid them off of Crowley’s face, He folded them up and placed them on an end table. Once that was done, he maneuvered his arm and wrapped it around the demon’s shoulders so that he wouldn’t slip any more in his slumber.

“Sweet dreams, you wily old serpent.” Aziraphale smirked.

Waving his other hand, the phone line was disconnected. That was the only thing he thought may wake Crowley. As rarely as it rang, he did not wish to chance it. With a final motion, a small stack of sturdy books appeared next to Crowley’s shades. _Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies_ was at the top. Satisfied, he picked up _Pride and Prejudice_ once again and went back to where he was. With Crowley asleep on him, there was a chance that he may have to stay where he was for a while. But that was alright by him.


End file.
